


another white night

by Ashling



Category: Emily of New Moon - L. M. Montgomery
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22689940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Relationships: Teddy Kent/Emily Byrd Starr
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	another white night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minkel23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minkel23/gifts).



It was not dawn yet, but Emily Byrd Starr was awake in her bed, curled up like a forlorn cat, and crying. Not proper full-lunged sobbing that might do her some good, but a sort of desperate sniveling that she despised even as she went on doing it. She had been so _close_.

It had nearly been a bearable night. Cousin Jimmy, against both the express wishes of both Aunts, had smuggled her a good plateful right before she went to sleep, and the food, combined with a long walk taken right before the meal, had worked like a charm. She had felt deliciously sleepy before midnight, and felt herself loosening, and thought with great satisfaction of this one night finally won—

—and then woke with the terrible ghost of what might have been brushing by her cheek in the cold, still air. For a moment, Emily could have sworn that she heard echoes of Teddy's voice. He had been saying something to her, sat by her knee, taking one of her hands in his own, and it was all so familiar and fading so fast. When she finally caught hold of what he had been saying, it took her a while to match it with its source. Certain sweet phrases from Teddy's letter, which had comforted her so well only four or five hours earlier, now seemed downright cruel. Wouldn't it be better if he were a little further away? Now that she knew she could have had him, it was the difference between longing for an exotic flower in some old still life painting, and longing for a vivid springtime violet, real and alive. When she woke like this, she believed she could reach out and pluck that violet, that she could somehow slip between times and find Teddy as she wanted him, when he wanted her. 

It never lasted, that belief. She came back, always, to this helplessness, like a pinned bird. But after her cry, she could at least stare dully out the window at the slowly unfolding splendor of the sun rising, and as the light warmed her face, she could find her way to pride again. It had gotten her so far. It would get her to the wedding of the man she loved, wearing a bridesmaid's dress, and it would get her to the other side of the ceremony too. There was a grim pleasure in it: love was nothing to the Starr ego!


End file.
